Skip to main content

Any given Tuesday


Virat Kohli must have woken up with a premonition that the world was ending real soon

Any other reason which could explain the ferocity of Tuesday’s trailblazer would be deemed unworthy of an innings that seemed to crashland from some parallel universe. But if you dig a little deeper, the collective over joyousness didn’t stem from the innings itself, but what was surmounted to reach that point of no return.

The scoreboard is a liar

It speaks eloquently of results but not the fight or the heartbreak. The scoreboard since India’s English summer that was dubiously replicated in the Australian summer showed huge defeat margins. But the fan didn’t just grieve for the losses. He grieved for the nature of the losses. There was no fight to reminiscence about, no intent to find solace in. The scoreboard didn’t speak of the nihilism that followed those disastrous outings.


The excuses won’t set you free

VVS Laxman and Rahul Dravid know a thing or two about conquering the improbable. Their collective master classes in Kolkata didn’t just ensure victory. It opened the door of possibility, something which hadn’t existed before the series. A series victory shifted gears from being a stuff of dreams to stuff of history. That a miniature version of that seminal event played itself out again on Tuesday is in itself a miracle. Suddenly, no one’s complaining about form, surfaces, and ageing superstars whose flourishes crept away gently into the night.

A first for Australian cricket

When Australia takes on Sri Lanka, it will be under unusual circumstances. For the first time in its history, the team will have the support of a billion people (and counting).

As Agassi surmised in his last few minutes as a pro, ‘the scoreboard says I lost today, but what the scoreboard doesn’t say is what I’ve gained.’

Virat Kohli will realise the value of the knock goes beyond mere numbers. It’s a knock every sport lover would love to see more often, a knock which seamlessly lends itself to sporting folklore.

Heck, it’s a knock we’d like to see any given day.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

When an Iyer met an Iyengar

If you see my parents, they look like the quintessential arranged marriage couple. After nearly 35 years together, they still take care not to touch each other while posing for a photograph and my mother’s smile dangles precariously between a smile and a grimace. But this image discolours the truth a tad. Some 40 years back, they met at work, fell in love and got married. The talking point of the union being mom’s status as an iyengar and dad’s as an iyer. Simply put, the iyers and the iyengars are two castes of the Brahmin community, each, when given the chance, profess superiority to each other on all counts. If you listen closely, an Iyengar talking about an Iyer will say ‘Iyer a?’ in a condescending tone. And vice versa. Mom tells me that when she told her dad about the marriage, he vowed to stand by her at any cost. Dad never told me what happened, but allow me to hazard a guess. His mother (my grandmother), threatened to go on a fast unto death. My dad threatened to go

Rasam rice

Picture courtesy - Natasha Shiggaon Luthra On some days, Bangalore weather becomes nostalgic. And for some time, everyone is permitted to live in the past. On one such June day, the sun wistfully playing hide and seek and the clouds emitting just enough raindrops for an instagram photo, the weather flirting with winter, the craving for rasam becomes telling. Rasam. Rasam rice. Whichever, doesn’t matter. First, use your fingers to make space in the middle of a heap of rice. Don’t protest when the dollop of ghee gleefully sinks into the rice. The rasam should scald, otherwise the ride isn’t worth it. The flesh on your fingers crawl when you dip them into the rasam, but trust me, keep with it. No good thing has been known to ever come easy. The impatient wait for a few seconds and an insignificant morsel is savoured. Gooseflesh ensues. Slowly but steadily, bigger portions are savoured. to enhance the experience and attain nirvana, combine it with cr

#If life were like an instagram feed

I read a quote sometime back that went something like this - "Jealously is how much fun you think they had." At some point in the evolution of social media, quality of life began to be measured by a person's social media feed. And you think that person must be having the time of their life. No dull moment. No faux pas. Every moment so tailor-made to create a thing of beauty. You will be misled into thinking that people were waking up daily to a view so beautiful that it seemed right out of a tourism guide and that every meal was a Michelin rated gourmet style offering. If life were like an instagram feed, the day would begin on a cottage in the hills, a selfie with the morning mist in the background. Breakfast wouldn't be poha, idli, sambhar or anything that bears resemblance to the ordinary or everyday. It will be crepes with chocolate sauce, some orange juice, french toast with a side of bacon and waffles with maple syrup. You could use the filter 'Rise&#